A Vampirefic
by Avery Likelytale
Summary: Snape has a secret...a secret he aims to take with him to the grave...in a figurative sense, of course, because he's already dead. But what happens when Harry finds out? SNARRY VAMPIREFIC
1. Chapter 1

**A Vampirefic**

**By:** Avery Likelytale

**Author's Notes: **This is my first time writing Harry Potter fanfiction, so please be nice to me…I'm not overly familiar with the Potterverse. Sorry. D:

Anyway, this was written for my friend Mademoiselle Obvious, who likes vampires and Snarry. SO HENCE. THIS WAS BORN! I hope you guys enjoy it. And the title is either temporary or permanent. I might come up with a better title that I like more. But for now, this is _A Vampirefic_!

And it shall be updated sporadically. LLL comes first...and besides, I'm writing this in class. XD

**Warnings: **Slash (Snarry) that will probably develop slowly because I want to _try_ to keep everything in character but I don't think I'll be able to because I suck at that; vampirefic-ness, which means bloodiness, I guess; character death in this chapter, but don't worry, it's not anyone important. At least, I hope it's not. And no real slashy bits in this chapter. I told you, it develops slowly.

**Disclaimer: **I OWN HARRY POTTER. Not.

* * *

The air was gloomy in the dungeon that day—but when wasn't it? A room always seemed to become gloomy when Severus Snape entered it—and if Snape was the _master_ of the room, then the gloomy aura became almost unbearable.

Snape seemed to know about the gloom that he carried with him, and he enjoyed it. He paced down the row of miserable students, silently busy with work as they chopped roots and beheaded lizards, and mixed them all up in their bubbling cauldrons. It gave him satisfaction seeing them cower with fear as he approached them. Lovely.

Then he paused at one of the cauldrons—the cauldron of his most hopeless case, the despised Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Miracle Child Who Can Do No Wrong, the Slacker, the Thickheaded Delinquent. All of these titles—and a few more colorful ones—could be applied to this boy with the head of messy black hair, the glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose, the bright green eyes, and the famed lightning-shaped scar.

"Well, well, Potter," Snape said, in that soft but sneering voice that he knew all of his students—especially Potter—hated. "The Death's Face Draught is supposed to be opaque white at this point of its creation. What color is _your_ potion, Potter?"

Potter glared to the side, refusing to meet Snape's eyes, and his hands clenched with indignation. "Red. –sir."

"Yes, Potter," Snape said. "Your potion is red. Transparent red—tell me, Potter, can you explain _why_ your potion is in this state?"

"No, sir," Potter said stiffly.

Snape's lip curled into a small sneer, and he swept out his wand, lightly tapping the rim of Potter's cauldron. All of the contents in the cauldron vanished. Derisively, Snape said, "_This_ time, Potter, you will add the powdered raven's beak _before_ the scarab wings. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Potter's simple and controlled response annoyed Snape—he wanted the boy to get angry, to get out of line again. _Set him up and knock him down…_ "I wonder why you made such a slip-up," Snape said softly. "Could it be that the miraculous Boy Who Lived is too busy concocting ways of defeating the Dark Lord to concoct a basic potion?"

Potter said nothing, but his fists resting on the table tightened. This small movement caused his Gryffindor scarf to slip down slightly, revealing the curve of his neck. A wild instinct gripped Snape—a primal, deep, unbreakable instinct—and he nearly dove forward and sank his teeth into that lovely neck—but he caught himself in time. Slowly, pressing the urge down until it was practically nonexistent, he ran his tongue over his teeth to feel that they had returned to normal…that his blood-hungry fangs had retracted once more…

It was safe to talk again. Knowing which subject Potter was most sensitive about, Snape went on, "Your _father_ was like that too—not that he had any amazing prophecies made about him, of course, but he still thought that _he_ was above everything and everyone, including—no, _especially_—classwork."

"_Shut up_," Potter hissed between his teeth. His arm was shaking, and it was clear that he was becoming riled.

Snape allowed himself an inward smile of satisfaction, but outwards, he put on a scowl. "Excuse me, Potter? _What_ did you say?"

Granger, the know-it-all seated beside Potter, gave him a very noticeable kick in the leg. "Harry, _don't_—"

But Potter cut her off loudly. "I _said_, 'Shut up'—sir."

Every head in the classroom whipped around to stare at Potter, who had pulled himself into a half-standing position, though he was restrained by Granger holding onto the bottom of his scarf. There was undisguised loathing—loathing and anger—in Potter's eyes as he glared at Snape, his mouth twitching.

"How dare you speak to a professor that way," Snape said flatly. "Ten points from Gryffindor. And if you say anything more, I'll be forced to give you a detention."

"_Slime_…" Potter hissed. Granger let out a gasp of fear, and Snape's inward smile grew wider.

"A detention tonight, then. Now seat yourself, Potter. Unless you'd like more detentions? I'd be very glad to grace you with them," Snape said.

From the back of the classroom, Malfoy let out a loud giggle. Snape's eyes sought out the blonde-haired boy, and he frowned. Malfoy became more and more annoying each year. –Well, sure, he was Slytherin's poster boy, and Snape still favored him above the other students, but something about him was irritating. He was too much like his father—a slimy, yellow-bellied, crawling lizard. With a high-pitched giggle, at that.

Potter slowly sank back down into his seat, and, looking away, began chopping vigorously at a dandelion root. Snape stuck his wand in the path of Potter's knife, and Potter stopped instantly, looking up.

"There is no dandelion root in the Death's Draught Potion," Snape said, his voice stony.

And his inward smile reached frenetic proportions as he noticed, from the corner of his eye, Potter hacking away at his cutting board with a furious hand.

* * *

He was hungry.

Hungry in an animalistic way, with a deep, maddening, primal craving roiling and clawing at his insides, begging, screaming, _roaring_ for food—for sustenance—_for blood_—

He was starving, as he always was, every night at this time. Starved to the extent where it affected his rational thought, his reasons—where it made him nearly want to abandon everything, all of this pretense of being human, and just charge out and eat _something_.

It _almost_ made him insane. –_Almost_.

Slowly, he began marshaling his rationality, until he was able to get a handle on the hunger. He lay on his bed, enjoying the ravaging pain in his stomach—no, in his _blood_—for several minutes. But he knew he could not remain like this forever, that soon the pain would become unsavory. He had to move.

He had to _feed_.

Snape slowly sat up upon his bed, suppressing the yearning to the best he could. When he ran his tongue along his teeth, he could feel the points of his fangs. It was no use trying to retract them—he was far too starved, too desperate.

He toyed with the thought of running out into the hall, grabbing a random student, and drinking from her (for some reason, Snape always assumed that if he ate students, he'd eat female ones)—but the idea was ridiculous. Students suddenly disappearing would be suspicious…and no matter how well he covered his tracks, if Snape ate one every night, then eventually, it would all point to him…

So he had to go through a ridiculously long routine, just to feed. He began by heading toward the statue of Gorbey the Grand, a wizard who had slain a famous vampire centuries ago (how ironic!). When he tapped the statue with his wand, lightly, the dully gaping mouth fell even wider open, until it created a doorway. Here was a secret passageway to Hogsmeade, one that no one knew about—not even Fred or George or Filch. It was a passageway Snape had made himself.

He headed through the long and damp corridor, and when he emerged, he was on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, which was currently experiencing a winter storm. Hiding himself behind a dead tree, he drew his cloak up to his chin with one hand, while removing his wand with the other.

The spell he murmured was a complex one, and another one he'd devised himself. Even if he fed on the villagers in Hogsmeade, it would start becoming suspicious. No, his best bet was Muggles—after all, no one would notice if a Muggle died.

"_Arrrrreeeghhhhh_!" screamed the porky boy who landed at Snape's feet

The spell Snape used to get Muggles was a Summoning Charm, of sorts, but a more complex one that could transport _people_ over long distances—preferably Muggles, who had no magic to resist the spell. It was a spell Snape had devised himself, all in the name of feeding. A desperate vampire could perform all but the most impossible spells—if he needed to feed.

He toed the screaming boy slightly, frowning disaffectedly when the boy rolled over, revealing a chubby face contorted with screams and wails, and covered with tears and snot.

"_Waaaaah_! _Where am I? Mum! Dad! It's c-coooooold!_" the boy shrieked.

"Up," Snape commanded, nudging the boy with his foot.

The boy's round eyes tilted upwards, and he let out a screech at the sight of Snape's wand, protruding from his black robes.

"Hey! _You're one of those..._those _wizard_ people!" The boy began backing off, pointing a shaking finger toward Snape, until he backed himself into another dead tree. "Just like _him_! Waaaaah! I hate him! It's his fault all you crazy wizards are coming to get me! Where's my mum? My dad? _Waaaah_!"

"How do you know about our kind?" Snape said slowly. "About wizards?"

"'Cause…'cause….," the boy whimpered, almost pathetically. "That nasty, yucky Potter boy…he's one of _them_…"

"Who are you?" Snape said. "And how do you know about Potter?"

"He's my _cousin_," the boy snapped. "He's my nasty, yucky, _wizard_ cousin!"

"So, you are Potter's nasty, yucky, Muggle cousin?" Snape sneered. "How coincidental. It's too bad…"

"Wha—?"

But those were Dudley Dursley's last words as Snape's claw-like hand shot out and seized the Muggle boy by his sweatshirt collar. In a single, fluid motion, Snape's head was buried in the crook between Dudley's porky face and his shoulder, and his fangs were slicing through the skin and fat of the left side of Dudley's neck, until they hit the vein. Applying more pressure, he pierced the vein open—and a fountain of brilliant red blood gushed out, in an explosion of near ecstasy.

Snape sucked all of that blood, draining Dudley as if the Muggle was a juice-box. Dudley's expression was frozen in shock as he hung limply in Snape's fierce grip, while his blood ran out from the ripped skin of his neck, down his collar.

Snape licked the droplets of blood from the wound, then threw the Muggle aside. With a flick of his wand, he Transfigured the drained body into a log, then burned it. The ground of this area of Hogsmeade was covered with scorch marks and ash, half buried in frost.

He turned back toward the hole in the ground from which he had emerged, which was still hanging open, waiting for his return. His face lowered, he wiped the blood from his chin—then stopped.

Someone was staring at him, open-mouthed, from the doorway, peering out into the winter with a look of utter horror on his face. Snape stared back, frozen and wordless for the first time—or at least, for the first time in front of Harry Potter, his most hated student…

…and now the only other person in the world who knew Snape's secret.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **That's it, dudes. I hope it's not too bad. I'm a Potter n00b. AND I HOPE YOU LIKED IT MADEMOISELLE! (I didn't beta read it, either, so if I made some typos or stuff, feel free to tell me, all of you.)

Review, my faithful readers, and I will give you kisses and hugs!


	2. Chapter 2

**A Vampirefic**

**By:** Avery Likelytale

**Author's Notes: **Hey! First of all, thanks for your reviews. They make me happy. SEND MORE! (please). And now I begin on Chapter 2…for some reason, this story is incredibly fun to write. Even funner than LLL, which worries me. I REFUSE TO BE SUCKED UNDER BY THE HARRY POTTER CURRENT:flails, thrashes, dies:

Anyhoo, here's the chapter of the day.

**Warnings: **Snarry slash, possible OOCness—apologies for this! D: I dunno what else…possible bloodiness? Idiocy? Me making up my own convoluted rules for vampires?

**Disclaimer: **Huh. I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

Snape's mouth struggled to work out some words that would explain the whole situation, but he found none. How in the world could he possibly explain the fact that he'd sucked the blood out of a random Muggle to that gawking, black-haired idiot with a goldfish expression plastered across his face?

But the initial shock was wearing off, and Snape was becoming the master of his own self again—while Potter still looked uncomprehending. Running a hand through his long black hair, Snape flicked an ice-cool glance at the teenager, and said, "Well, well, Mister Potter. What are we doing here, hmm?"

Potter seemed to shake himself out of a daze, and said three simple words.

"You're a vampire."

"_Potter_. I asked you a question," Snape said irately, as if this was merely another classroom situation in which Potter had gotten into a spot of trouble and Snape was telling him off. "When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer."

"_You're a vampire_!" Potter screamed, and whipped out his wand. He performed no spell, but merely held the wand at the ready, his arms shaking violently. "Who knows? Does Dumbledore know? _You're a crazy bloodsucker_!"

"_Potter_!" Snape practically screamed. "_Tell me how you got here_!"

Potter let out a wild yell and turned heel, running back down the passageway, screaming wildly and hoarsely. Snape caught the words "Snape", and "vampire", in Potter's screaming chorus. Cursing out loud, Snape dashed down after Potter, then sent out an Impediment Curse, knocking Potter onto his face. Potter roared and clawed at the muddy ground, still screaming about Snape's vampirehood.

"Potter! _Shut up_!" Snape snarled, running over to Potter's side. The black-haired teen glared up at Snape, his eyes furious.

"You—you—" Potter spat, his wand arm shaking as he began lifting his arm.

Snape brought his foot down on Potter's wrist, and the boy swore loudly, his fingers reflexively jerking and releasing his wand. In a chilly voice, Snape said, "Now, Potter, let us go…_peacefully_…back to my quarters, and have a discussion about _how_ exactly you came here. All right?"

Potter snarled slightly as Snape pressed his foot down harder, and then, grudgingly, said, "Fine. –sir."

Snape leaned down and picked up Potter's wand before painstakingly removing his shoe from the boy's arm. Said boy jerked up instantly, pressing himself against the crude wall and glaring at Snape. But from his expression, Snape could tell that Potter knew he had no choice but to obey—Snape was the one with the wands, after all.

They trudged back up the corridor to Snape's room, while Snape seethed inside. He always left the passageway to Hogsmeade open—otherwise, he wouldn't be able to return, as the portals were one-way only. But this had never troubled him, as he locked the door to his room with complex and powerful spells.

So how had Potter managed to sneak in?

Snape emerged from the gaping door, Potter trudging afterwards. When they were both inside, Snape tapped the statue once more, and the mouth sealed itself up. Then he turned around, heading toward the heavy ebony desk against his wall—and stopped.

His door was shut—but obviously unlocked.

Straining to control his anger, Snape headed to the desk and seated himself. Potter trailed afterwards, reminding Snape of an overlarge duckling. He grinded his teeth in annoyance.

"May I sit?" Potter said. "Sir?"

"No, you may not," Snape said coldly. With his back turned to Potter and his gaze fixed on his polished desktop, he said, "Now, then, tell me how you managed to sneak into my personal room. I do recall locking my door with spells that you, at your level, would certainly not know how to untangle."

"I don't know about any of that, sir," Potter said stiffly. "I was looking for you because I had a detention with you tonight, and you weren't in your office. I thought you might be in your room, so I asked around and found it. When I came here, the door was unlocked—and that statue over there"—he pointed—"was open. So I went down there, and…" He let his voice trail off.

"I would think that you would do anything possible to _avoid_ going to detention with me. I would expect you to go to my office, see that I am not present, and run off merrily on your little way with your friends. Am I correct?" Snape said.

Snape could hear Potter shuffling uncomfortably behind him. When Potter spoke, his voice was a mumble, "H-Hermione made me, sir."

Somehow Snape was not convinced—but he let it slide. There were more pressing issues to deal with. His door had been unlocked when Potter came? He couldn't imagine how that could happen. Unless…

Unless he had _forgotten_ to lock his own door? It was logical—caught in a fit of hunger, Snape could make enormous mental blunders. When the only thing on your mind was blood and feeding, then possibly, it could have totally slipped from his mind to do something as simple as protecting his privacy.

How many other times had he left his door unlocked? –and how many more times would he do so in the future?

He slowly rose and headed toward his closed door, and with a muttered spell, sealed the door back up again. Now certain that he was safe from further intruders, he turned back around to face Potter.

"Why'd you…why'd you kill Dudley?" Potter said quietly.

"What?" Snape said, surprised by the sudden question. "Who?"

"My cousin. Why'd you pick _him_?"

"It's not like I knew he was your cousin," Snape said, "but I must feed, Potter. Why? Are you _upset_?" He said the last word with a sarcastic sneer.

"No," Potter said, "—just…surprised." Then his voice grew angry. "Who else knows what you are? How long have you been one? What about Dumbledore? Does he know? What about—"

Snape cut Potter off with a calm but slicing voice. "Potter, I simply cannot deal with so many questions being asked at once. Perhaps, if you could ask one at a time—"

But Snape was interrupted in turn as Potter, with a furious yell, dove toward Snape. Snape, caught off guard, was slammed into his desk as Potter managed to clip him on the chin with a fist—but then Snape's senses recovered and he easily clamped his hand to Potter's neck and tossed the boy aside. Within seconds, Potter lay spreadeagled on his stomach on the floor, Snape's foot over his neck, and Snape's wand pointed straight at the top of Potter's head.

"Stop your mad rushes, Potter. I'm starting to become…infuriated," Snape said, with a trace of soft anger to his voice. "Now, let's think about this situation rationally."

Potter managed, with great effort, to lift his head slightly from the floor, his eyes peering over the top of his crushed glasses. "I hate you," he hissed, all attempts of politeness gone. "_I hate you_."

"You'll be pleased to know that the feeling is mutual." Snape tilted his foot downwards, pressing harder against Potter's neck, and Potter let out a low growl. "However, as things are, I fear I won't be able to allow you to leave this room."

"_What_?" Potter spluttered.

"I said, you cannot be allowed to leave this room. –Ever. You are one of two people who know my secret—and the other person is myself. You can't leave."

"You can't trap me here for the rest of my life!" Potter cried, thrashing wildly for escape. Snape's other foot hit Potter in the side, and Potter let out a cry of pain.

"The alternative is to kill you," Snape said. "Is that preferable?"

Potter glowered at Snape, his eyes bright with anger, but remained silent. With deliberate slowness, Snape lifted his foot from Potter's neck, so that the boy was free to move. Potter sat up and rubbed the back of his neck, and remained glaring at Snape, though he made no move to escape—obviously, Snape noted, even Potter wasn't stupid enough to know that without a wand, he had no hope of overpowering a vampire.

"I prefer to die," Potter said finally.

Snape, suddenly and unexpectedly, burst into a fit of cruel laughter. He threw back his head and laughed for several minutes, while Potter's glare melted into an expression of disturbed confusion.

Finally Snape managed to regain his composure, although he was still wearing a sneering smile. "My apologies, Potter, but your attempts to be noble and gallant are quite…ridiculous."

"You—"

With a wave of his wand, Snape bound Potter up with invisible magical cords, including cords covering Potter's mouth, so Potter's yell died into an indignant muffled growl.

While Potter remained bound up at the bottom of the bed, Snape turned around, reflecting. The thought of his hunger-induced irrationality was bothering him—if he made more slips of mind, the situation that happened with Potter might repeat himself, and he would end up with dozens of little Hogwarts brats trapped in his room—or dead. And there was only so long that Snape could go on like this without his secret being discovered.

What he needed was someone else—an assistant—someone who could _help_ him. It was humiliating to think that he, Severus Snape, would need _help_, but he knew that in his fits of hunger, when his blood was crying out for nourishment, he was no longer Severus Snape. He was an animalistic monster, a demon of blood, no longer a rational human being. In that state, he would need someone who still could think perfectly clearly who would lock his door for him. Someone intelligent, someone trustworthy, someone _who already knew his secret_…

His eyes flicked to Potter. Potter was hardly intelligent—he was thicker than whale blubber—and he was certainly not trustworthy—though with the proper magic, he could be forced into loyalty—but he definitely knew Snape's secret. He was the only other one…

"Potter," he said at long last, turning around to face the Gryffindor boy again, "you realize that I hate you above all else in this world, and that nothing anyone says or does can change that."

Potter, robbed of the ability to speak properly, fiercely nodded his head, as if trying to say, "_The same goes for you_!"

"But a great lord needs his servants…" Snape knelt down until he was eye level to Potter, and Potter jerked away. "…and you are already right here…" His claw-like hand clamped around Potter's right wrist, holding fast. "It's your misfortune, Potter, that you followed me to my room."

He released the magic binding Potter, and Potter made a noise as if to say something, but Snape's hand went to Potter's mouth, digging into the skin of the boy's face. His other hand released Potter's wrist, and, seizing his wand, traced a line just above his own collarbone. The line burst open into a cut, which began seeping blood—_monster blood_.

With a sudden sweeping motion, Snape's hands dug tightly into Potter's hair and slammed his face into the cut on Snape's collar. Clumsily positioning Potter so that the boy's mouth was crushed over the cut, he tightened his grip on a handful of Potter's hair and hissed, dangerously, "Suck the blood."

"Mrmf!" Potter struggled under Snape's hold, obviously adverse to the idea of sucking a vampire's blood.

"Drink it, you fool," Snape said, his voice still soft. His claw-like hand clasped the back of Potter's head firmly, and he dug his nails further, trying to physically coerce Potter into submission.

Potter's furious eyes focused on Snape's face. "No way," he growled. "It's _blood_—"

But these words caused Potter to open his mouth, which was a terribly unwise thing—the flow of blood had finally reached Potter's tongue, and he let out a loud gasp. Suddenly, with a burst of passion, Potter clamped his mouth over the wound and begun sucking the blood madly, almost like a baby sucking from a bottle.

Snape knew why Potter held fast—he knew that only one drop of a vampire's blood was all it took for a mortal to want more—and more—and _more_. He remembered the feeling when he had been made, unwillingly, into the monster that he was now—the elation, the fevered delight, the unimaginable sweetness of the blood, and always, always, the desire to drink more of that lovely blood. He knew exactly how Potter felt now.

"Hell tastes sweet, doesn't it, Potter?" Snape whispered into the air. The question was more for Snape himself than it was for Potter.

Then, abruptly, he grabbed Potter's shoulder and peeled him away from the flowing blood. The vampire skin instantly began healing itself, knitting back together neatly. Potter made a loud whining noise of discontent, and even tried leaning toward Snape's collar again, but Snape held him fast. Potter's chin was smeared with red blood.

"Get back to your senses, Potter," Snape said, removing his hand from the boy's shoulder.

Slowly, Potter wiped the still-sticky blood from his mouth, and his eyes lost the maddened light they'd had when he had been drinking from Snape. Now he stared at Snape with an expression of horror, disgust, and surprise.

"_Monster_," Potter whispered. "Monster!"

"Believe me, Potter," Snape said. "You're not the only one who thinks I'm a monster."

Potter trembled and staggered to his feet, obviously eager to leave—but as soon as he got up he fell down again. With a cry of indignation, he whirled around to stare at Snape, whose hand was lowered to the ground in a deliberate-seeming manner.

Then Snape lifted his hand, and smiled amusedly as Potter rose, obviously against his will. The boy struggled desperately, then turned and shot a scathing glare toward Snape.

"Poor mortal who tasted vampire blood," Snape said lightly. "You're now my servant, my puppet—an extension of me, if you will. You still can act independently, but when I command you, _you must obey_."

"I hate you," Potter snarled.

"Oh, Potter," Snape said, lying back against the footboard of his bed. "Believe me, my new assistant, I hate you as well."

* * *

**Author's Notes: **WHEW. FINISHED. (still writing this in class…)

Wow…is it just me or did this chapter have…bondagey implications? Eh. It's just me. :D And I'm reading an Anne Rice book right now so it's unfortunately influencing me. Damn you, Anne Rice.

I hope this chapter wasn't too fragmented. Or didn't make sense. Whatever. It's only fanfiction, right…?

:angsts in a corner:

By the way, please review!


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